


tie the knott

by uneventfulhouses



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment
Genre: Anal Sex, Fake Wedding, Feelings, Knott's Berry Farm, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:41:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22982671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uneventfulhouses/pseuds/uneventfulhouses
Summary: “You know,” Ryan says, voice casually conversational, “you can get married here. At Knott’s.”“So? You got a serious girlfriend I don’t know about?” Shane says, laughing.“The ceremony isn’t real, not, like, legal, but you do get a certificate.” Ryan smiles, gaze falling somewhere along the floor, and Shane watches him for a second, before drinking.It takes him a while, maybe too long, to realize what Ryan had been suggesting.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 56
Kudos: 679
Collections: The Ghosts Are Watching





	tie the knott

**Author's Note:**

> i hope everyone has fun reading it, cause it was fun to write. this is for the discord lol
> 
> thanks jess for the beta <3

There’s a fuzziness around the edge of his mind. He’s just faded enough that Shane still has his wits about him, but the wine and the beer they drink in the Wilderness Dance Hall make him feel loose.

The weather is impeccable, though a little hot. The day had been good so far, if not jam packed, traipsing over the city Ryan loves unconditionally. They’d gone bowling at Highland, and Shane can’t remember a time where Ryan had laughed so much, so freely. Granted, they’d been a couple drinks in, but on the other side of that coin, Shane couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy, too. His stomach is still recovering from the roller coaster, but standing here, with Ryan at his side, it soothes the nerves. They’d gone on more rides, hugged a mule, gotten a caricature drawn of them, and Shane had even knocked down a bottle and won that sweet wiener dog plush he had no use for. 

Holding his own beer, Ryan looks up at Shane with glittering eyes. Shane smiles at him behind the rim of his glass. 

“You know,” Ryan says, voice casually conversational, “you can get married here. At Knott’s.”

“So? You got a serious girlfriend I don’t know about?” Shane says, laughing. 

“The ceremony isn’t real, not, like, legal, but you do get a certificate.” Ryan smiles, gaze falling somewhere along the floor, and Shane watches him for a second, before drinking. 

It takes him a while, maybe too long, to realize what Ryan had been suggesting.

At home, Shane’s exhausted. He’s gone and showered off the day, still incredibly full from Jalisco’s. On the couch, Shane tips back a beer, stretching out his limbs. Obi jumps onto his lap. 

There’s something about the Knott’s thing. 

The _getting married at Knott’s_ thing that he hasn’t quite been able to stop thinking about. It’s a hilarious thought. Who gets married at a theme park? 

_Ryan would_ , his mind supplies, and it’s laughable, except Shane can’t help but dissect his thoughts, laying his mind on the surgical table and slicing through to find the infection. 

The memory plays again; Ryan looking up at him, with softness in his features, flushed from heat and adrenaline, well fed from the chicken they’d stopped for, maybe a little loose himself from the alcohol. What is it about this memory that’s so distinctly...distinct?

Shane’s response had been that of confusion more than anything. It was such an off-handed comment, made in such a low voice—it felt more like a secret. Like Ryan had been sharing a secret with Shane.

Why did it feel like a secret?

Absentmindedly, Shane drags a palm gently over Obi’s coat, feeling the soft rumble of Obi’s purring against his belly. 

It’s exhaustion, is all. That’s gotta be it. Two and a half days of wandering around Los Angeles, and Shane’s overdosed on Ryan’s presence and being overly present for a camera. He’s _tired_. But even still, Shane fishes out his phone from his pocket and navigates easily to his text threads. 

Clicking Ryan’s name, he thumbs out a quick message. 

_Wanna watch a flick?_

_I’m out of popcorn though._

_I’ll bring some over, nbd_

_Beers too?_

Ryan’s response comes quickly, and for some reason, it unsettles Shane. Not in a bad way. In a way that’s satisfying. He would have been fine for the night had Ryan said no, had Ryan said he was busy, but he isn’t. He never really is. Not when Shane asks. 

_Yes_

And what to do with that information? Shane hasn’t a clue.

It isn’t until Ryan is walking through his front door, beelining for his kitchen after tossing a haphazard greeting, that the realization of it all washes over Shane. 

It’s slow, the realization. But it’s there, a breath of wind blowing away the smoke that had clouded the hazy feelings he’s always had for Ryan. 

And like, his heart doesn’t burst into some wild beat and his stomach doesn't flip; Ryan comes to sit next to him after he’s made up some popcorn, two beers in hand. He passes one to Shane. 

“Decide what to watch?” Ryan asks from the other side of the couch. Shane shakes his head. 

“You pick.” 

Shane stews in it for days. Many days. So many he’s begun to catalogue Ryan in a manner he’s unfamiliar with. His eyes catch things about Ryan’s appearance that they used to gloss over. When Ryan nudges elbows with him, it sparks a gentle warmth through his body. Shane notices the dark rim of Ryan’s glasses, tufts of hair that peek out from underneath Ryan’s hat, the way clothes fit Ryan’s body. All things, generally, that Shane noticed before but hadn’t paid any extra mind to. 

It takes him even longer to realize the intensity of the attraction. Ryan, all the while, keeps looking up at him with those shining eyes and a grin so bright, it could spark Taylor Swift to write a song about it. 

They’re busy, and these realizations have come at a time where Shane can’t devote time to them. They’re trying to—well, he doesn't know what they’re trying to do, but they’re always in Ryan's kitchen trying to do it. There are a lot of legalities, a lot of brainstorming. A lot of talking with Steven, because Steven's in the kitchen, too. 

Somehow, the three of them birth a company, and trickle out of BuzzFeed, throwing up a peace sign in their wake. It’s sad, and it aches, but in a way that allows him to breathe. 

It’s almost three in the morning, and he’s reading and rereading _something_ , but he’s given up now, shoving the stack of papers to the side. Ryan’s asleep on the counter, head down over his crossed arms, and Shane can’t even remember when Ryan had stopped talking to him. 

Accidentally, Shane stares. It turns into purposeful staring when he just allows himself this quiet moment underneath the kitchen light, sitting at the island, on a chair that’s made his ass numb. He allows himself just one tiny rip in reality and just looks at Ryan. 

It’s a face he’s looked at many times before, even asleep, with drool pooling at the corner of his mouth, lips parted as he snores softly. Sparse eyebrows, long eyelashes, his cheeks patchy with his unshaven beard. It’s a face he’s looked at many times before, but he supposes he’s never noticed. 

Shane sighs, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. It’s too late for kitchen revelations. Much too late. They’re in the middle of something this revelation could quite possibly destroy. And it’s not like Shane’s going to _say_ anything. There’s nothing to say anyway. It’s just a feeling, fleeting if he’s patient enough, and Shane has plenty of patience. He reaches out a hand, gently jostles Ryan awake. 

Ryan wakes up with his whole body, jolting up with a sharp breath. He wipes his mouth and looks at Shane. 

“What time is it?” he asks, voice gravelly, eyes blinking like he might try to stay awake. 

“A little after three,” Shane says. “You should go to bed. I’m gonna go home.” 

“No--just, uh, take the couch. No one’s coming home today. And if they did, they won’t mind,” Ryan says. He lifts himself from the counter, stretching his arms high above his head. It’s like his whole body cracks. “Or you can sleep with me. Probably more comfortable.” 

Shane hums. “Couch is good.” 

Ryan claps him on the back. “You know where everything is. Want something to sleep in?” 

Shaking his head, Shane stands. “I’m good.”

“You okay, man?” Ryan looks at him, tired and confused, hand still on his back. 

“Just tired,” he says. 

Ryan blinks his eyes, like maybe he doesn’t believe Shane, but Shane waves him off. Ryan turns and walks away, through the living room, looking back at Shane when he reaches the stairs. Shane gives him a small smile that seems to answer his question and Ryan disappears up the staircase. 

Shane falls face first on the couch and closes his eyes. Everything is fine. He’s pining a little, but everything is fine.

They’re in Ryan's kitchen again. Ryan's talking with his hands and his face and Shane isn’t listening to him, hasn’t been really. The light catches Ryan’s eyes in a way that makes Shane’s brain go a little hazy, and Ryan's doing that thing where he smiles like a lunatic on speed, but there’s something so goddamn endearing about it. 

For some reason, there’s the slam of the front door, knocking Shane out of his mind for a moment. It all seems to _click_ , and goddamn if it wasn’t so loud Ryan could hear it. 

“Ah, fuck,” Shane says. 

“What? What's wrong?” Ryan says, frowning. 

It's not like Shane is going to say, “Never realized I’m ass over tits for you”, so he just waves Ryan off. But Shane knows now. And he doesn’t know what to do with it. 

It doesn’t change anything, he realizes.

It’s just a fleeting feeling and goddamn it, Shane has the patience to hustle through this. It’s a poker game he can win; Shane's got a pretty good poker face. 

They go to Knott’s again, traipsing around the park with childlike wonder, laughing as they partake in rides and activities, eating more than their fill of boysenberry flavored treats. Shane follows Ryan around, because it’s Ryan’s park, it’s where Ryan thrives and laughs and has unadulterated, shameless _fun_. 

It isn’t until the sun sets that Shane takes a deep breath, looking up at the sky, and then down at Ryan. Ryan’s attention is on his phone, fingers flying quickly over the keyboard. He doesn't know why it occurs to him again, why the memory of Ryan looking up at him with his big dumb eyes strikes him so hard, but it does. 

“We should do it,” Shane says. 

“Do what?” Ryan looks up at him, confusion warping the features of his face. 

“Get married here,” Shane says slowly, but easily. The words taste okay in his mouth, good even. 

Ryan grins big and wide, laughing loudly. “Are you okay?” 

Shane smiles big and wide, too, nodding. “Yeah.” 

“Okay. C’mon,” Ryan says, pocketing his phone and grabbing Shane’s wrist. Shane lets it happen, enjoys the sear of Ryan’s palm against the tender skin that covers his pulse and doesn’t try to wriggle out of his grasp, or pull away. He finds, startlingly, that he doesn’t want to.

It’s in _Ghost Town_ of all places. Shane rolls his eyes, but what can he do? Ryan talks to the guy at the bar, and then it happens. Shane’s been to quite a few weddings, knows how they operate, knows, fairly, the ins and outs. He doesn’t know what he’s going to vow.

What does a person vow to their best friend during a make believe marriage ceremony? What does a person vow to their best friend during a make believe marriage ceremony when they’re in love with their best friend?

Oh, big words have been realized. It doesn’t scare Shane. Not really. He thinks maybe it was inevitable. Maybe it was always there. Maybe it was a maybe that was supposed to stay a maybe. A possibly. An almost. Sometimes, in these recent days, Shane looks at Ryan and Ryan looks back, and there are lines between them, uncrossed so far. 

Except, why now? Of all the times Shane could have realized this feeling, this big word feeling, why now? What was special about these handful of moments, Shane at thirty three years old on the cusp of the career he’s been cultivating his life towards, with two people he cares about. Why now? Why now in the middle of summer, in a city he doesn’t really give a shit about? Why now, in the middle of a theme park, standing across from Ryan, Ryan who looks at him and fucks up all those lines they had between them, messes up the wires in Shane’s brain and unfurls a gentle bleed of warmth in his chest with his dark brown eyes and city-lights-smile?

Except. Except why _not_ now? Why not in the middle of all this god-awful heat, with the sunsetting, cat-vomit watercolor in the sky. Why not now, in the worst pair of jeans he owns, and an ache in his back from sleeping wrong, and—

Why not?

Ryan shells out thirty dollars for a couple of rings, and they make up silly wedding vows.

“I promise to always come through with popcorn,” Ryan says. 

“I promise to always tell you if your video thumbnails are shit,” Shane teases. 

“And I’ll always tell you if your shirt is inside out.”

“And I’ll bring you back home, even if a demon possesses you.” 

“I promise to always remind you of your bigfoot heritage.” 

“And to tell you—”

“We’re gonna make it right?” Ryan asks, his voice softer now, his smile faded. “What we’re doing. The company. We’re gonna make it, right?” 

“Yeah. Of course we are.” Shane smiles, hands in his pockets. “I promise to remind you when you’re worried we aren’t.” 

Ryan breathes a sigh of relief. “Shane, I—” he doesn’t say, though. There’s a second, where Shane holds his breath because there’s something in the way Ryan looks at him. And then Ryan laughs. He just laughs and shakes his head. “I promise to always remind you that ghosts are real.” 

Shane rolls his eyes, and whatever had settled in the air dissipates. 

“Oh!” Ryan looks at the bartender and darts up to him, whispering in the bartender’s ear. The bartender gives a surprised laugh, and Ryan looks pleased with himself. He comes to stand close to Shane. 

“Go on and exchange your rings,” the bartender prompts. 

And they do so, Ryan first, slipping a ring of fake gold onto Shane’s finger, slowly, carefully. And Shane does the same, catching Ryan’s eyes as he does. Shane ignores the warmth of Ryan’s hands, the way they’re a little sweaty. They’re both grinning wildly. 

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce the Berry Boys ‘berry’ married,” the bartender says, laughing. 

“ _Ryan_ ,” Shane wheezes, shaking his head. “You idiot.” 

Too smug for words, Ryan looks up at him, smile like the sun. “Ready?” Ryan asks. 

Shane nods, holding out his hand. They do their simple handshake, laughing by the end of it, and make their way to the bar. There’s a round of applause as they scribble their signatures onto the certificate. 

“We should frame this,” Ryan says, tracing the edges of the thick paper. 

“Where are we gonna put it?” 

Ryan shrugs. “In your apartment, I guess. Next to your freaky butterfly.” 

Shane doesn't know why his stomach flips. “I guess we should probably drink now.” 

“Fuck yeah.” 

Steven has to come pick them up because they get wasted. Wasted in a fuckin’ theme park. They spill into the backseat of Ryan's car, Steven in the front seat. Steven looks at them with disdain, but blessedly doesn’t admonish them for their behavior. 

Ryan sings along to the radio and Shane stares out of the window. His head is swimming. 

At home, he manages to get inside, leaving Steven to deal with Ryan, even though Ryan had asked to come up. Steven had been the one to tell Ryan no, and Shane didn’t argue, even though he sort of wanted to. 

That seemingly had been the end of that. 

Only Shane can’t get himself to take off the ring after his shower. He keeps. He keeps looking at it, touching it every so often, allowing his mind to wander over the idea of being married, actually and truly and legally married to Ryan. 

Shane would go insane. He’d probably go nuts, but? _But_ it would be _fun_. Ryan is reliable. Shane already knows what it’s like to sleep next to him. How to calm his anxiety. How to quell the fear of a nightmare. He knows Ryan doesn’t like pancakes, eats like he’s a freshman in college, prefers cream in his coffee, and hates getting up early. He knows Ryan can be lazy, but is one of the most ambitious, exuberant, extroverted people he’s ever met. He knows Ryan when he’s stressed, when he cries, when he’s happy. He knows Ryan to a T and that both frightens and delights Shane. 

He leaves the ring on. 

It’s a handful of nights later, and they’re drinking in a bar neither of them like, ditched by the friends they’d come with. 

They’re drinking and they’re in a good place in life, and things keep seeming to get better and better. It’s always better with Ryan. 

That’s not a new realization by any means. Things have always been good with Ryan at his side. 

So, they’re drinking, and Shane notices Ryan’s shirt is tight around his arms, his chest, and his hair is falling crazy over his forehead, eyes like stars when they catch the neon lights of the bar and he looks over at Shane.

There’s a flutter in Shane’s chest, a spike in his pulse. 

“We never consummated our marriage,” Shane says, and Ryan laughs. 

“It wasn’t a real wedding,” he says, and Shane quirks an eyebrow. Grins. 

“I don’t know, Ry. I’ve got a whole certificate that says otherwise.” Shane blinks at him, watching Ryan lick his lips. 

“Yeah, that same certificate that says, ‘fake marriage’.” 

Shane waves his hand.

“Wild idea here,” Ryan says. 

“Let’s hear it anyway,” Shane encourages. 

“What if we waited?” 

“For what?”

“Until we were married for real.”

Shane laughs. “Are you proposing to me in a bar?”

“Maybe?” Ryan says, wearing a thousand kilowatt smile. “I guess I am. Shit, I should get down on one knee.” Ryan shuffles out of his chair as Shane ignores the look from surrounding patrons in a bar as Ryan kneels beside him. “Shane Madej, will you marry me? For real this time?” 

Shane wheezes into his beer. “Did it once, I could stand to do it again.” 

Ryan jumps onto his feet, laughing. “Romantic! The butterflies are really goin’ at it.” 

“This isn’t Vegas, Ryan, we can’t just go get married now. We have to wait until the morning.” Which partly terrifies Shane, because he wants to do it now. He wants to just get up and go marry Ryan right now. There’s too much time ‘til morning, too much time for Ryan to sit on before he tells Shane, _it’s just a joke_.

“So, we’ll wait until morning,” Ryan says. He shuffles into the booth, sitting close to Shane, pressed against his side. “I mean, I waited this long, what’s—” he grabs Shane’s wrist to glance at Shane’s watch, like he doesn’t have a watch of his own. “—they open at nine? Nine, so it’s eleven—what’s ten more hours?”

Shane laughs, shaking his head as he takes a sip from his beer. “What do you mean you waited this long?” 

“Exactly what I said.”

“ _Ryan_ ,” Shane says, and it feels a lot like he’s been saying Ryan’s name like that. Shane stares at him and Ryan looks down, fidgeting with Shane's watch. Shane lets it happen. Even though he wants to press, even though he wants to ask. 

“I can’t believe you proposed to me in a bar. And not even one we like!” 

“I’m sure you’ll get over it, big guy. Besides. It’ll be a good story.”

“Will it though?” Shane says. “Will it?” 

Ryan grins. 

So, what do they do for ten hours?

They drink, find street tacos, catch a shitty live band, and have a few more drinks, enough that when they call for a Lyft and crawl into the backseat, they get handsy with each other. Ryan giggles as he leans forward against the front passenger seat to tell the driver in an exaggerated whisper, “We’re engaged.” 

“Is that so?” the driver asks. 

“Yep!” Ryan says with a loud pop on the ‘p’. “The big guy and I are getting hitched. Right, Shane?”

Shane looks at Ryan, tipsy and smiling, fingers clutched in the denim of his jacket. “Right.” 

“Congratulations,” the driver says, meeting Shane’s eyes in the rearview mirror. The driver smiles and Shane laughs, pulling back Ryan against him. Ryan turns into Shane, wiggling a hand underneath his shirt, tells the driver to close his eyes so he doesn't watch them kiss.

“Don't worry, kiddo, got my eyes on the road.” 

“Shane, _Shane,_ we’re getting _married_ , you gotta kiss me,” Ryan whispers.

Shane doesn't get the chance to, though, because Ryan touches his palm to his face, coercing Shane to fully face him. Shane looks at Ryan for all of a second and a half, before Ryan smashes their faces together. 

Just like that, Ryan kisses Shane for the first time in the backseat of the car. 

For some reason, it reminds him of sleeping bags, dense woods, the flashing red indicator light on a camera. It reminds him of Ryan’s kitchen, and their matching boots, and sitting in a library behind a desk. It reminds him of rock climbing. It reminds him of long, late night drives, and sunsets, and Ryan’s nervous laugh whenever they go somewhere he doesn’t really ever want to go. The taste of Ryan’s mouth reminds him of nights like these, pouring out of bars, talking over each other, and laughing. Laughing, always laughing.

With a wave to their driver, and a generous tip, they make it inside Shane’s apartment, tripping over each other as they kiss and touch and undress one another, leaving a trail of clothes in their wake. 

Shane bangs his knee against the wall, Ryan's elbow catches against a door jamb, and Shane trips over his pants caught around his knees, taking them down in the hallway. Ryan laughs into his bare chest, leaning up on his arms.

When Ryan leans down to kiss him, it’s with a breathy laugh, an all too gentle press for how tipsy they are, lying on the floor in the middle of Shane’s hallway, half naked. Shane pulls back and looks at Ryan, touching his palm to his face. He says lowly, quietly, “I wanna fuck you.” 

Ryan hums. “I thought we were waiting?” 

“I don't feel like waiting.” 

“Fair enough.” 

Ryan shuffles off of Shane's body, standing at his side. For a moment, Shane just lays there, contemplating the heaviness of this moment, of the night, of the last few weeks where he’s been submerged in emotions he’d never indulged in. Looking up at Ryan, he can only smile, because, _fuck_ , Ryan’s smiling down at him, holding out his hand. Shane takes it. 

They don’t slow down. They’d paused, but they didn’t slow down. Their kisses are a mess, Ryan's hands touching all over Shane’s body like he can't decide where to set them. When Shane takes them, he finds they’re trembling. Shane rubs a thumb over Ryan’s ring, the one Shane put on him just a handful of days ago. It’s warm underneath his touch.

“I want it. I’ve just never done this before,” Ryan says, looking at him square in the eyes as he pulls his hands away. 

“Okay,” Shane concedes, and he leans back in for a kiss, nudging Ryan towards his unmade bed. 

Ryan lays back, body long against his navy-blue bedsheets. Ryan’s slept in this bed before. He’s going to sleep in it after they’re done. He could, Shane thinks, sleep in it for however long he wants, if that’s something he wanted. He watches, standing at the foot of the bed, as Ryan shuffles out of his jeans, catching his eyes when he pushes down the waistband of his briefs. And he lets Shane look at him. 

It’s not something he’d ever imagined. Had he spent time curating fantasies of Ryan, they would have paled to this. Naked and hard, laying on Shane’s bedsheets. Shane’s head swims. There’s so much flesh he catalogues, wanting to touch Ryan all over, drag his lips over the curve of Ryan’s shoulder, nose grazing the grooves of his stomach, his palms over the sparse hair of Ryan’s thighs, fingertips against the backs of his knees. He wants it all, so much, and it hits him right in his chest, his gut. He’d keel over if he wasn’t so fucking hard for Ryan, aching with how badly he wants to be inside him. 

“You gonna stand there and stare at me all night?” Ryan muses, leaning up on his elbows. He blinks once, then again, smile blooming. 

“What if I am?” Shane quips, hands on his hips, already exasperated. 

“That wouldn’t be much of a good time.” 

“Says who? I’m having a fucking _great_ time.” 

“Are you nervous?” 

“No.” 

“You’re stalling.” 

“I’m _appreciating_.” 

“Come touch me,” Ryan says, voice pitched low, and Shane feels it slither through his veins, beckoning him close. He listens, kneeling on the bed, still dressed in his briefs. He crawls over Ryan's body, brackets his shoulders with his forearms. “Kiss me, Shane.” 

For a second, Shane searches Ryan’s eyes, the curve of his lips, the line of his jaw. He leans in then, catching Ryan’s lips in a kiss that burns hot when his tongue slips over Ryan’s, when Ryan’s fingers grip his sides, his waist, pulling him closer. Fingers push down the elastic of his waistband. Shane moves to kiss over Ryan's jawline, his pulse, the saltiness of his throat as he works a bruise into flushed skin. He can feel the vibration of Ryan's moan press against his tongue. 

“Fingers first,” Ryan says in a breath. “Then your cock. Let’s go, buddy.” 

“ _Ryan_ ,” Shane says, laughing against his shoulder. “Do _not_ call me _buddy_ when I’m trying to fuck you.” 

“How about _dude_?” Ryan says, gasping when Shane’s knees slip over the bed sheets and he lowers his hips to drag against Ryan’s. 

“No,” Shane grunts, licking the hollow of Ryan’s throat.

“ _Bro_ , then,” Ryan says, gripping Shane’s shoulders, one hand coming around to touch low against Shane’s back. 

“I’m going to kick you out,” Shane says, nipping over Ryan’s collar, keeping a slow steady rhythm, just to feel the way Ryan’s cock catches against his, dragging rough against his briefs. 

“You wouldn’t.” Ryan sighs. “It’s too good.” 

It is, Shane thinks. It _is_ too good. How have they barely started and it’s this good?

“Please,” Ryan whispers. Shane lifts himself off of Ryan's body, stretching his reach to pull open his nightstand drawer. Ryan kisses over his chest, his sternum, his stomach, pushing his underwear down the rest of the way, til they’re caught around his knees. Shane digs out a condom and lube, setting them down on the bed beside them. 

Shane hoists himself up and shucks off his underwear. Ryan whistles. “Christ, Madej.” 

“Shut up,” Shane mutters.

“Nope,” Ryan says, closing a hand around him, stroking slowly, experimentally. Shane bows in on himself, a groan ripped from his chest. He ducks down to fit his mouth to Ryan’s, before all too suddenly, Ryan’s hand disappears, and so does his mouth. He scoots up the bed underneath Shane, laying against the pillows, spreading his legs open. His cock lays thick and flushed against his belly, wet and leaking, dribbling over tense muscles. 

Momentarily, he wonders where Ryan's left his anxiety to hang, where he’d left his nervousness and his usual gentle strains of shy. He wonders if this is what Ryan is always like right before he fucks. Shane wonders if it’s the alcohol. If it’s what they said. What they’ve committed to do in the morning. He wonders if their proximity has melted all of it away, that being so close to someone day in and day out has been so easy, that this of course would be easy, too. 

“Knees up,” Shane says, and Ryan shifts his legs, bent at the knee. Shane watches when Ryan reaches between his thighs to grasp at his balls, slowly dragging his fingers to clasp around his cock, stroking. Shane watches curiously as Ryan shivers. 

Shane pops the cap of the lube and drizzles it over his fingers, setting it to the side. He shuffles closer, batting Ryan’s hand away to stroke his wet hand over Ryan’s cock, watching as Ryan bites down on his lip, fingers finding pillows to grip. He doesn't say anything when Shane drifts lower. 

“Okay?” Shane asks, and Ryan nods, his back arching when Shane slips a finger in. 

“Oh, that’s—that's different,” Ryan murmurs. 

“Bad or good?” 

“Neither,” Ryan confesses. “Just feels different.” 

Shane makes a noncommittal noise, shifting his hand to stretch Ryan open. Ryan moans a soft little sound, fingers still gripping the pillows on either side of his head. There is a flush high on his cheeks that drips down his chest. Shane stares openly, unabashedly. 

“Another one, please,” Ryan gasps, and Shane drips more lube, slipping another finger inside, and this time, Ryan whines. 

“ _Oh_ , oh yeah, that's—that's good.” 

Shane leans forward, kissing softly along the inside of Ryan's thighs, the crease of his hip, letting his tongue slide out to taste Ryan's cock where it lays untouched. It twitches. 

“Fuck, Shane,” Ryan pants. “Don't tease me.” 

“I think,” Shane says, tasting the bitterness at the head, “I think you like to be teased.”

Ryan grunts, rolling his hips, fucking himself on Shane’s fingers. When Shane gives him a third, he’s a panting, writhing, sweaty mess. 

“Don't know if three’s enough—“ Ryan breathes, “but I don't want to come like this.” 

With one last kiss to the inside of Ryan’s thigh, Shane slips his fingers out, wiping them on the sheets. Ryan turns himself over and lifts himself on his hands and knees. His face is pressed into the mattress. 

“Come on, Shane.” 

There’s a lot going through Shane’s mind right now; there’s the desperation to feel Ryan’s body so responsive underneath his, a question if they should be doing this, the heady feeling that this is all Shane _wants_ to do. He puts the condom on. 

Shane is gentle with his hands as they slip down the flexing muscles of Ryan’s back. Ryan’s fingers grip the pillows as Shane sets a hand low, just above the swell of his ass. “Relax for me,” Shane whispers, nudging the tip of his cock against Ryan. He presses inside, slow, slow, slow and Ryan groans underneath him, his spine curving underneath the press of Shane’s palm. His muscles contract, flex, and Shane can feel it under his touch, the way Ryan’s body becomes so insanely hot. It’s so good, Shane has to close his eyes. 

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” Ryan whispers once Shane is all the way inside, hips flush against Ryan’s ass. “Oh my god.” 

Shane leans forward, drapes himself over the line of Ryan’s spine, pressing in deep. He drags his teeth over the nape of Ryan's neck, groaning when Ryan clenches around him. 

“Shane, _Shane_ , fuck.”

“What?” Shane breathes hard against Ryan’s shoulder, trying to collect himself. He blinks his eyes open. 

“I don’t know,” Ryan says. “God, I don’t know.” And then he rolls his hips back into Shane’s, drawing out an explicit hiss from him, one that Shane drags along the flushed, overheated expanse of Ryan’s shoulder. 

“You don’t know?” Shane murmurs. 

“No.” Ryan picks himself up, holding himself with the full length of his shaking arms. “C’mon, Shane, _fuck_ me,” Ryan says, by way of answering. Shane wordlessly picks himself up, stabilizing his hands on Ryan’s hips. Shane draws his hips back slowly, and then presses forward. Ryan shakes underneath him, breathing hard—

And Shane realizes that he’s shaking and breathing hard, too. Ryan doesn’t have a snippy comeback, he doesn’t say anything, just the whisper of Shane’s name as Shane fucks him, hard and earnestly, attentively, his hands gripping a little mercilessly at Ryan’s hips. Shane feels it, sharp in his belly, like fire in his lungs. 

“Tell me how it feels,” Shane mumbles, canting his hips forward. 

“Good, Shane, please, so good,” Ryan cries. His breath hitches and Shane feels like his lungs are too tight in his chest.

There’s a thought that gathers at the back of his mind, a little whisper of _you could have him, he’d let you_ , and the weight of the morning to come settles on his shoulders. Ryan’s a mess beneath him, dissolving into noises, grunting and groaning as Shane thrusts inside of him. He feels so good, so hot, so tight around Shane’s cock, taking him like he’s greedy for it. He winds an arm underneath Ryan’s chest, leaning in close, palm pressed over the wild beat of Ryan’s heart. Ryan’s hand covers his, fingers grappling, tangling. Shane’s other hand grips a fistful of the bedsheets. 

“Yes, yes, _yes_ ,” Ryan moans in time with the way Shane fucks into him, hot and slick, the sound of their skin smacking together muted in his ears, the thumping of his headboard against the wall barely noticeable underneath the slow drip of Ryan’s voice. Shane noses along Ryan’s jaw, his cheek, murmuring words he doesn't remember saying. All he knows is he wants to see Ryan. Wants to watch his face when he comes, wants to see each second it takes for Ryan to fall apart. 

“I’m so close, Shane, _Shane_ ,” Ryan whispers, fingers tightening around Shane’s, still pressed against his chest. 

“Turn over,” Shane says, voice hoarse, rough, maybe even a little desperate. 

“What? No.” Ryan pants. “No, no, keep going.” 

Shane hesitates, for just a moment, thinks he should just fuck Ryan like this, and let it go, but he _can’t_. “I want to see you.” 

Ryan’s quiet for a second as Shane slows. 

“Yeah, okay.” Ryan lets his hand go and Shane pulls out, heat sitting hot in his belly when Ryan makes such a helpless little noise. Ryan rolls over, splaying his legs open, reaching out his hands to grasp at Shane’s forearms, pulling Shane on top of him. He’s unsteadied, dizzy from it. Shane can blame it all the alcohol, but he knows it’s the sex, intoxicated by Ryan’s flesh, diving headfirst into too much all at once. 

“Better?” Ryan asks, looking up at Shane with impossible eyes. Shane nods as Ryan’s thighs press in against Shane’s hips and Shane sets himself back against Ryan, sinking deep inside. They share the same moan, the same harsh whisper of a breath as Ryan’s thighs press into his hips. “Don't stop, don't stop,” Ryan begs as Shane finds his rhythm easily, his hands on Shane’s face, on his neck, pressing gentle against his chest. 

They watch each other now, and the attention is exactly what Shane had wanted, the illustrious glow of Ryan’s brown eyes looking up at him, lips parted. Shane leans in to kiss him, his forearm pressed against Ryan’s shoulder, fingers threading through Ryan’s hair. The kiss breaks when Shane slips his hand between the mattress and Ryan’s ass, shifting his hips so when Shane strokes in, Ryan throws his head back, crying out, whining, like it’s been torn out of him. Ryan’s fingernails scratch down his chest. 

“Right there?” Shane asks, grinning and when Ryan looks up at him, his eyes are shining, and he rolls his eyes. 

“You smug son of a—“ 

Shane cuts him off with a strong thrust of his hips, just to hear Ryan cry out like that again. He sobs his moan and Shane kisses him then, kisses him wherever he can reach with his mouth, until Ryan is whispering in his ear. 

“Make me come, please, make me come.” 

Before Shane can get a hand between them, Ryan does. Shane’s eyes dip to watch, just for a moment, as Ryan's hand blurs over his dripping cock. When Shane looks back up, Ryan catches his eyes, and then shuts them tight, bowing underneath him, fingernails scraping against Shane’s shoulder blades as he comes, knees knocking against Shane’s ribs, mouth hot as he chants Shane’s name against his collar. His come splashes against Shane’s belly.

Ryan trembles underneath him, breathing so hard that Shane, in the back of his mind worries, but then Ryan _opens_ , lays underneath him with a body so pliant, looking up at Shane so tenderly, Shane curses, hips snapping against Ryan’s and staying, coming deep and long. So hard there’s light behind his eyelids. He grinds it out, knees rubbing raw against the bedsheets, whispering Ryan’s name against Ryan’s mouth when Ryan shoves his fingers in Shane’s hair, pulling him down for a kiss so messy it’s hardly a kiss. 

He collapses against Ryan, so much so that Ryan grunts from it, but his arms settle around Shane’s shoulders and his legs come around Shane’s body, heels hooking around Shane’s thighs. Like he’s holding Shane. 

They stay like that until they can’t, breathing hard until it’s uncomfortable with Ryan’s come gluing them together, Shane’s spent cock slipping out of Ryan when he shifts his legs to stretch them out. 

“Bro,” Ryan says, voice dazed and reverent, looking up at Shane with a lazy, deeply satisfied smile. Shane howls with laughter, setting Ryan off, until Shane rolls over onto the bed beside Ryan and their laughter dies down. 

“You’re such a fuckin’ idiot,” Shane mumbles, yawning. Ryan rolls onto his side, hitching himself up onto an elbow.

“But you’re not kicking me out, so what’s that say about you?” Ryan quips. He drags a hand over Shane’s chest, a solitary fingertip drifting over the line of his clavicle.

“That I'm also an idiot.” 

Humming, Ryan smiles soft and sated. He's glowing underneath the mundane yellow light of his bedroom lamp. He’s fucking gorgeous and Shane knows this now, knows what Ryan looks like when he comes, knows what he looks like after incredible sex, even drunk and silly as they’d been.

Shane takes Ryan’s hand and kisses the center of his palm. 

“Come on,” Ryan says. “We gotta deal with bed stuff so we can sleep.” 

Shane ditches the condom and Ryan wipes them down. They strip the bed, but not at all efficiently. Ryan keeps kissing him too much for them to really do anything. And Shane just goes, leaning down to kiss Ryan, hands pressed against his waist. 

“I’ll put the sheets on, you go set the washer,” Ryan tells him, still blissfully naked, as he follows Shane into the hallway and busies himself looking for sheets. Ryan disappears back into the bedroom as Shane sets the armful of bedsheets into the washer, pouring detergent and softener, turning dials, momentarily panicking and wondering if in the morning, they’ll agree this was all a mistake. 

When he gets back to the bedroom, Ryan’s lying face down on the left side, sheets on and blankets pulled high. He's sleeping. Shane’s never known Ryan to fall asleep so fast.

Shane shuts off the light and leaves the room, just to make sure the front door is locked and to shut off the remaining lights. Obi sleeps soundly on the couch. 

In the bedroom, Shane shuts the door and gets into bed, lying next to Ryan. He leaves enough space between them, like usual, but Ryan blinks his eyes open, reaching out with his hand to grab Shane's, thumbing the ring Shane still hasn’t taken off. 

Shane’s chest floods with emotion, adoration, just full on love for Ryan, right there in the middle of his bed at almost two am.

They fall asleep like that. Holding hands awkwardly, with so much unsaid, but all of it heard. 

At way too early in the morning, they have a semi-serious discussion between bites about morning breath and kissing under the sheets, about whether or not they should actually get married. Light bleeds through the cracks in Shane’s curtains. Ryan’s body is warm, almost hot, pressing closer, always closer.

Lying between Shane’s thighs, resting his chin on his hands over Shane’s chest, Shane drags gentle fingers up Ryan’s waist. They’ve been quiet for a while, just lying together. 

Ryan says, “I almost confessed that day at Knott’s.” 

“Confessed what?” Shane meets his eyes. They’re brown and light, tired and sleepy. Ryan’s lips curve into a small smile. 

“How much I want this part,” he whispers. “How much I wanted you.”

Shane’s fingers still, pressing into Ryan’s back. “ _What_?” 

“ _What_ what?” Ryan mutters. “I didn't just wake up one morning and realize things about you. Stuff was just kind of—always there.” 

“Stuff,” Shane echoes.

“ _Feelings_ ,” Ryan clarifies.

“It's a good thing you didn't,” Shane confesses. “I don't think I was ready for it, yet.” 

“And you are now?” Ryan touches soft fingertips to the line of Shane’s jaw. 

“Well? Yeah. I mean, we’re literally talking about lifelong commitment to each other, Ry. In the eyes of the _law_. A month ago? Nah. But seeing you standing across from me, looking at _me_?” 

Ryan smiles softly. 

“It just made me see you. Was looking out a dirty window the whole time, so I sprang for some Windex, and I just—could see it all.” 

“With me?” 

Shane nods. 

“Shane, I don't think we should get married.”

“What? Why?” Shane’s heart sinks inside his chest, and something complicated unsettles in his stomach. There are too many emotions and he feels raw, split open, wounded. So, this _had_ been a mistake?

“ _Because_ ,” Ryan says. “Because I want my mom to come. And we should probably let Steven know? And because we should really consider the way this is going to change things. And you know,” Ryan trails off, ducking his head down, looking up at Shane. “Like, planning an actual wedding with the things we want. And like, the people we want to come.”

Shane laughs, pinching Ryan’s side with his fingers, listening to him wheeze. “You’re so gross.” 

“What am I supposed to do? You know me. You know I’d want something stupid and big with flowers and invitations and shit. You _know_ that,” Ryan says. 

“So, you do want to get married for real?” 

“Yeah. Yes.” There’s a finality to Ryan’s words, his tone, the serious look on his face; it melts the ice buildup in Shane’s chest, leaving him off center, off kilter, too gooey on the inside. “Yes, I do.” 

“Okay. Should we make breakfast or go get something somewhere?” Shane asks, grinning. 

“I don't want to get dressed yet,” Ryan says. He rolls off of Shane, burrowing into the comforter. “Go make some eggs.” 

“You can't just boss me around,” Shane mutters, but he gets up out of bed, stretching his old man limbs, before pulling on a pair of underwear.

“Why not? Been doing it this whole time. I think you like it when I'm bossy,” Ryan teases. 

Shane snorts. He's not wrong, but like hell would he give Ryan the satisfaction. Shane looks down at his ring as he walks down the hallway, stepping over the mess of their clothes. 

Shane will undoubtedly go nuts, but he doesn’t have a doubt in his mind, that he wants all of Ryan’s crazy, overly romantic, stupid theory, proposing to him in a bar madness. It’ll be fun. 

Ryan comes up behind him just as he’s making his way into the kitchen, a hand gentle over his elbow. When Shane looks down at him, Ryan’s smiling. 

“I’ll make some coffee,” he says. Shane leans down to kiss him. 

Also, he’s in love with Ryan, so there’s that, too. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! [tumblr <3](https://uneventfulhouses.tumblr.com/)


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